


Forgiveness

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:57:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Gibbs finds out more about Jack on a snowy, solemn day. Pre-Slibbs





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Two things:  
1\. Show Jack is NOT a good darts player, based on what I saw in season 15! So a little bit of artistic license was taken!  
2\. We may never know Jack's full back story when it comes to her parents, and if we do, this story might not even be close to what we get. But I hashed it out the possibilities with happycamper5, and this seemed to fit pretty well. "Even extraordinary people make mistakes." We assumed she meant Fornell when she said that to Gibbs in "Burden of Proof", but as it turned out, it really applied to Gibbs. I wondered if this might also apply to her mother, despite it sounding like she had meant her dad. Just something to think about and to base a fic on. :)

The storm had rolled in at last, covering the city in wet and white, bringing most of it to a halt. McGee had called in sick, Torres claimed his street was closed, and despite Gibbs suspecting one of those was a lie, he told them both to take the day off. It hadn’t surprised him at all when Bishop stomped half of D.C’s snow from the elevator to her door. For a girl who had grown up without snow, she sure did love it. 

The day had started three hours ago and the office had fallen into silence. Quiet, except for the tap-tap-tap of Bishop’s pen on her desk. For an hour, Gibbs kept his head down, eyes on his expense reports, pretending he couldn’t hear the Chinese water torture coming from her side of the office. On the 61st minute, he’d finally had enough.

"Bishop."

The word was stern enough to halt the pen in mid-descent. Guiltily, she curled it into her palm and was 2 clicks into a new annoyance when he looked up. She immediately dropped the pen. 

"Did you see Jack today?"

Eyes returning to the reports, he said, "Yep." She hadn't stopped at the bullpen that morning, choosing instead to go one floor higher. But they had made contact, albeit too fleeting for his liking.

Bishop frowned. "No, I mean, did you _see_ her?"

"I'm sure the point is right around the corner," he muttered to his desk. 

Unperturbed, Ellie said, "Didn't something seem off about her? Like she wasn't as… I dunno… sunny as she usually is."

So he wasn't the only one who had grown accustomed to Jack Sloane breezing in at 9 in the morning to cheerfully start everyone's day. He wondered when that started to be something he looked forward to. Rather than ask _that_ question aloud, he went with another. 

"You bored, Bishop?"

"Aren't you even a little curious?"

"Nope."

His attention returned to his paperwork, and he hoped she'd do the same, even if he didn't have _much_ hope. Sure enough, it took her less than 3 minutes before she fidgeted in her seat and made a motion to stand.

"Bishop." She froze halfway to upright. "I'll handle it."

Her eyebrows rose in startled surprise. "Really?" The word sounded incredulous even to her ears. "I mean, you usually don't care." Another verbal stumble. "I mean about… personal stuff."

"Then why'd ya ask me?"

She just shrugged.

Knees groaning, he stood and started towards the stairs. He didn’t have to turn his head to know Bishop was looking at him with a mixture of relief and curiosity.

…..

Her door was slightly ajar, as it always was, and in an unexpected way, it reminded him of his own door, figuratively if not literally always open to those who needed it. A soft thumping stopped him from entering. 

Silently moving closer, he could see just enough to find the source of the sound- Jack was standing about 10 feet away from the wall, tossing darts at the board. The quick thumps, then silence as she gathered the small projectiles, returned to her place, and began again. He had never actually seen her play; on every occasion it had been used when he was in the office, it had only been used by him. But she clearly knew how to play. Her stance, her hold, and the way she threw from her elbow spoke of years of practice. Three darts in the triple 20 only confirmed it. 

_God, she was beautiful. _

He waited until all 3 darts were thrown again before he cleared his throat. She jumped slightly, and he apologized with a nod.

"Hey," she said, collecting the darts and returning them to the box on her desk.

"No need to stop on my account."

“I really should at least pretend to be working.” 

He watched her slip into her seat and open a folder. “What are ya workin’ on?”

Looking up, she shook her head. “You miss the part about me pretending?” His chuckle brought warmth to the quiet room. “So what brings you here?”

“Nothin’. Just saving myself from a murder charge.” Her head tilt prompted him to go on. Rather than reply, he reached over for a pen and began the same tap-tap-tap he had been through for the last hour.

“Ah,” Jack smiled. “The weather does have a tendency to make people stir crazy. Why don’t you let her go home?”

“I would, but she doesn’t wanna.”

Jack nodded sagely. “She’s lonely.” The words seemed to trigger a thought. “Funny how the 3 single people find themselves together in a way. We’re only missing Nick.”

“Said he had car trouble,” Gibbs replied, beginning to rethink his earlier accusation about the excuse.

“So… you going to take a load off or-?”

He surprised her by not sitting but by walking over to the cabinet in the corner. Getting her silent but curious approval, he ran his hand over the top, his carpenter fingers and keen eyes admiring the craftsmanship. The devil was always in the details, and he knew from experience that something this good took a lot of time. He also knew it didn’t take more than a millimeter to screw it up. His knees gently protested when he crouched to look at the lower drawers. Seeking and getting another nod, he tugged at the handles. Just as she had told him, the drawers didn’t budge. 

“Your mother was a very forgiving woman.”

The comment, meant in faint jest, was met with a response he wasn’t quite expecting.

“She had a lot of practice.”

He filed it away but didn’t reply. Instead, he stood and took the five strides that brought him to her desk. Picking up the darts, he found her mark on the floor and tossed one at the board. 

“You can play,” he praised.

“My dad taught me,” she said, sitting back to watch. “He used to sneak me out of school early- ‘Don’t tell your mother!’- and take me to the bar, back in the day when you could do that.” She picked out a sucker from the jar and rolled the stick between her thumb and finger, the light catching the pinwheeling plastic wrap. Two of his darts hit the bullseye. “You know you’re supposed to go for the treble 20s, right? You’ll get to 501 faster that way.”

He tossed his third and it hit just outside the red sliver that made up part of the 20 wedge. Frowning at the miss, he said, “Guess I just like gettin’ to the point.” Any other time, any other day, that would’ve slipped by and gotten a smile from her. Not today.

“So why don’t you?” His step faltered ever so slightly on his way to retrieve the darts. That was all the confirmation she needed. “How long have you known?”

The idea of lying to her came and went so quickly it barely had time to form in his mind. Yet he didn’t quite know what to say in its place.

“It’s a simple question, Gibbs,” she remarked, as if she had read his mind. “How long have you known?”

Tapping the dart’s steel tip, he admitted, “After you told me about the cabinet.”

“Leon?”

“Nah, I’d never ask.”

“And he’d never tell.” Jack nodded. “So you had to dig it up somehow.” Her tone, accusatory yet defeated, brought him closer.

"Jack."

"You found out about Faith and now my Mom. Anything else you want to know or are you just going to snoop around for that, too?"

He bit back a retort; her bite was a defensive response he knew all too well. "I wanna know the people I care about." A shrug punctuated his explanation. 

The soft confession seemed to sand her edges. She drew a hand through her hair and sighed. "Sorry."

"You never have to apologize to me, Jack."

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "I know. It's one of the things I love about you."

He had turned to sit on the couch, and was glad she couldn’t see the effect her throwaway line had on him. Willing his mask to fall into place, he dropped his long frame and invited her over.

Though she accepted, she remarked, "Removing the desk as an obstacle between us. Classic psychologist move." 

He turned his position to face her. "Learned from the best," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh, you're very smooth," she praised.

"Never had a problem catchin' them," he said, referring to his track record with women. "Just had a problem keepin' them."

Mirroring his position, she asked, "And why is that, do you think?"

"Nope. Not goin' there." His chuckle made it less defensive than it might normally have been. In fact, a thread of promise weaved through his words. "This isn't about me talkin'. It's about you. If you want."

She propped her elbow in the back of the couch, then pressed her fingers to her temple. Her eyes were closed but there was no serenity to her expression; there was only a secret pain in the lines that formed between her brows.

He wasn’t good at this, he'd be the first one to admit it. Talking was never his strong suit. Action is what got things done. But looking at her, he was damn well going to try.

"That your dad's board?"

Her eyes opened and she glanced over her shoulder. "No. That’s my board. Think he got 5 bucks for his at the local pawn shop."

He filed away the comment, but didn't pursue it. "So you did most of your practicing at the bar." 

"Which is _really_ cool when you're 6. Not so much when you're 16."

"You start figuring things out."

"Yeah." Her attention went to her folded hands. "I always thought the sun shone out of my dad's ass." They shared a smile. "When really, it was my mom who did everything she could to hang the stars and the moon for me. I just didn't realize it at the time." She frowned. "Didn’t put together why Dad could sneak me out of school at odd hours while Mom had to work late. Again."

"Your dad was a damn good carpenter." It wasn’t meant as praise as much as it was meant to convey his confusion.

"How long would it take you to make that?" she asked, tilting her head towards the cabinet. Not waiting for an answer, she said, "It was never fast enough. Carpentry work paid well, but didn’t pay quick enough. The job that was going to change everything didn’t come through soon enough. The horse at the track didn’t cross the finish line in time. I heard them all.” Jack paused. “She heard them all.”

He knew where the story was going and it hurt to see it play out across her face. “But she stayed.”

“Yep. Saved every penny so I could go to school even when that’s where she should’ve went.” She glanced up. “She wanted to be a lawyer, but things happened. You know.”

“You happened.” 

“Yeah.”

“She loved you.”

His conviction brought a small smile to her face. “I know. She never once made me feel like I was a mistake or that she regretted having me. She gave me everything she could so I could do better. But as a kid, you wonder, you know? Hell, as an adult, you wonder.”

Pieces from different times in her life were coming together for him. “It’s why you gave Faith up for adoption.”

She bowed her head. “One reason, yeah. I never wanted her to wonder what my life could’ve been like. But a part of me feels guilty because_ I_ never wanted to wonder what my life could’ve been like. Looking at Mom every day, how did she not think about how things might have been different for her?”

“Because sometimes, people learn to play with the hand they’re dealt, Jack.”

A soft derisive breath escaped her lips. “Yeah, well she was given a busted flush.”

“But she made it work.”

“She made it work.”

He reached across the back of the couch to brush a finger over her shoulder. “When you told me ‘even extraordinary people make mistakes’, I thought you were talkin’ about your dad. But you were really talkin’ about your mom.”

Jack’s gaze went to the cabinet. “She never said marrying my dad was a mistake. But she _was_ extraordinary.” His soft touch brought her back. “You know, she always told me I had so much to offer. The year after she died, I joined the Army to prove her right.”

Gibbs grinned. “I joined the Marines to prove my dad wrong.” Her laugh was twinned with a sob, and he said, “C’mere.”

She looked at the welcoming haven of his open arms. “I’m not going to cry on your shoulder, Gibbs.”

His eyes took in his posture and agreed. “Not in this position, no.” Her chuckle broke through her tears. “Don’t make me come get ya, Sloane.”

So she ended up in his arms, crying into his chest and not his shoulder (just as he said), her arms slipped around his waist. The office was a quiet witness to the moment and she felt like she could have stayed there forever. But she knew if she stayed any longer, it would only lead to a self-examination of a different sort, and she wasn’t ready for that, today of all days. 

He seemed to feel the shift in her because he pressed his lips into her hair and whispered, “We good?”

Not quite ready to let go, she stole one last nuzzle. “Yeah, we’re good.”

His arms relaxed but didn’t quite relinquish their hold. “Good. Because ya owe me a coffee.”

“Me?” She pulled back just enough to look at him. “What for?”

“For drivin’ you home,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ll be lucky to find that matchbox in the snow, let alone drive it outta the parking lot.”

“I’d like to argue, but you’re probably right.”

“I usually am.”

She slapped his chest and sat up straight. “So we’re talking about your ex-wives now?”

“That’s my cue,” he said, standing and glaring at her sass. 

She stood with him and reached for his hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?” 

There was no seeking of praise in the question; it was a simple, honest question from a man who thought nothing of giving to the people he cared about. If she knew anything about him, it was this. With her free hand, she outlined his shirt collar, giving her eyes something to focus on besides his.

“For having a great chest to cry on? Can only imagine how good your shoulders are.”

The ridiculousness of her answer was pure Jack and he laughed out loud. “Come on,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Bishop’s itchin’ to make snow angels.”

…..

-end.


End file.
